


I Love a Man in a Uniform

by tardisjournal



Category: Torchwood
Genre: AU--or is it?, Humor, Light BDSM, M/M, Slash, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 16:08:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tardisjournal/pseuds/tardisjournal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Time Agents Jack Harkness and John Hart bag their elusive quarry, the rouge inventor/time traveler Ianto Jones, he turns out to be an irrepressible tease. The Agents decide to mete out a little "punishment" of their own before they take him in. AU--<i>or is it?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	I Love a Man in a Uniform

It would be an exaggeration to say that Jack Harkness signed up for the Time Agency for the uniforms. But not much of one.

The sleek trousers and boxy, military-style jacket were midnight black, exquisitely tailored, and radiated authority. They were made of NuMat, a 45th century synthetic fabric that was softer than the finest wool and rugged enough to stand up to all manner of physical abuse.

The calf-high black leather boots, on the other hand, were chunky, with thick soles and lots of hardware. They proclaimed that the person wearing them wasn't above a little arse-kicking if necessary. Jack never failed to get a thrill when he strapped them on. He polished the silver buckles every night until they shone brighter than the full moon over Boeshane.

There was even a cap, also made of NuMat, that adjusted with a small silver buckle in the back. It tied the whole ensemble together quite nicely, in Jack's opinion.

“Come on, quit admiring yourself the mirror and let's go already. We're late enough as it is,” John Hart said with a scowl.

Jack tugged his jacket down so that it fell properly, nipping in at his waist and making his shoulders look that much broader. He adjusted his cap to a rakish angle and grinned at his reflection.

“Sorry, it takes a while when there's so much to admire,” Jack said. “And since when did you care so much about punctuality?”

“Since our leave starts as soon as we bring Eye Candy in, or have you forgotten? I don't know about you, but I'm looking forward to a month off.”

“Like I'd forget. But there's no rush. He isn't going anywhere. Not this time.”

“Not this _time?_ ” John groaned. “Ooh, not a very good pun.”

“Who said it was a pun?”

“Well, wasn't it?”

Jack flashed the enigmatic smile he'd been working on. It was meant to suggest that he knew so much more than he was saying. His impression that it was coming along nicely was confirmed when John rewarded him with a sour expression.

Jack flipped the cover of his Vortex Manipulator open, punched in some coordinates, then held his arm out to John.

“Come on, then. Let's go get our man.”

“Why do you always get to drive?”

“I'm the senior officer, remember?”

“We're the same rank!”

“Yes, but I was awarded mine first.”

“By five minutes! And only because your name came first in the alphabet.”

“Well, whose fault is that? You could have picked a different name. But no, you thought “Zebulon” was cool.”

“Excuse me, it _is_ cool,” John asserted, but stepped forward and took Jack's arm.

“And because my wrist strap is bigger,” Jack said, and pressed a button, sending them whirling off into the Time Vortex.

(Of course, John's name wasn't “John” back then, and Jack's wasn't “Jack”.  But since those are the names we know them by, that's what we'll call them unless it's absolutely necessary.)

 

* * *

 

It had taken Jack and John six months of linear time, and the crisscrossing of thousands of years using their Vortex Manipulators, to track down Jones, whom they finally found hiding out in Victorian London disguised as an eccentric gentleman prominent in the Society for Psychical Research. (Apparently his "invention" of a box that communicated with spirits--really just a remote-controlled player with pre-recorded voices on it that he could select at will--had made him very popular with wealthy and well-connected Spiritualists.) They had agreed to split up; Jack to search a location suspected to be his workshop, and John to question some associates of the man known as the “Boy Genius” (so-called because while he was only a couple of years shy of Jack's twenty-two, he was said to have quite youthful features).

All had proceeded according to plan until Jack's Vortex Manipulator miscalculated the landing. Instead of materializing on a proper surface, he had appeared in mid-air about four meters from the floor. When gravity took over, as it is wont to do, Jack was spared a painful tumble by landing on top of the surprised inventor himself.

 _“Oof,”_ Jones had uttered as he was knocked to the floor. He landed in an undignified manner on his back, with Jack sprawled on top of him. The Time Agent and his quarry found themselves nose-to-nose and hip-to-hip, and was hard to say who was more startled.

Jack knew he ought to rise and began his speech about putting Jones under arrest, but he found he rather liked being where he was. The younger man's body was warm and his shoulders under Jack's hands felt solid. His eyes looked boldly into Jack's own (far too boldly for someone who was about to go away to prison for life) and Jack found himself fascinated by their color, which was neither blue nor gray but some indefinable shade in between.

Jones’s lips were full and slightly parted and as Jack watched, his tongue darted out to wet them. Jack felt arousal shoot through him and bit down a groan. He had to get off Jones before the man felt the physical evidence of just how much Jack wanted him in that moment.

Jack leapt to his feet, and Jones began to laugh.

“What's so funny?” Jack asked, feeling flustered, which wasn't like him at all.

Ianto propped himself up on one elbow. “This is where I say, 'nice of you drop in' or some such, isn't it?”

Jack groaned for an entirely different reason.

“Is that really the best you can do? I expected more from the Boy Genius.”

“At the moment, yes. I seem to have taken quite a knock to the head. In fact...”

Jack glanced down just in time to see Jones’s eyes flutter shut as he slumped back to the floor.

“Seriously? That's the worse fainting impression I've even seen,” Jack said. “If you're doing that to get out of being arrested, it won't work.”

There was no response.

“Jones?”

Jack moved over and touched the toe of his shiny black boot to Ianto's side, then crouched down next to him.

“Well, I'll be damned.”

Ianto Jones was really unconscious.

' _And looking downright edible_. _I could kiss him awake..._ Stop it!'

“Well, I guess I can skip the part about the need to come quietly,” Jack said out loud.

As a precaution, Jack unclipped a pair of handcuffs from his belt, pulled the unconscious man's wrists together, and cuffed them.  As he did so, images of the inventor wearing the cuffs and nothing else rose in his mind, and Jack had shoved them back down with effort.

' _Focus, Harkness!_ ' It wouldn't do to get distracted, not when he was this near to his goal!

He scooped Jones up ( _'Damn, he's heavier than he looks_ ') and maneuvered him into a fireman's carry, so that his head was hanging down past Jack's shoulders. Then he flipped the cover on his wrist strap and pressed the buttons to send them whirling through the Vortex.

 

* * *

 

Jack and John materialized inside the holding cell to find Ianto Jones lounging on the hard bench like it was a comfy couch. His arms were folded behind his head and his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles The handcuffs had been removed, and his well-fitting, expensive clothes had been replaced by a shapeless t-shirt and trousers with a drawstring at the waist.

' _A pity, that,'_ Jack thought. He had much preferred the charcoal gray stovepipe trousers Jones had been wearing. They had been snug and left little to the imagination. These baggy things hid far too much, though Jack supposed they did have the advantage of being a lot easier to remove. The gray trousers had had a lot of fussy buttons that could really slow a guy down...

 _'What the hell?'_ Focus! He needed to focus! He was about to complete the biggest arrest of his career. This was no time to get distracted.

“I'm Jess Hunter and this is my partner Zebulon Brown. We're with the Time Agency,” Jack announced. The last bit was, no doubt, superfluous. The notorious time outlaw Jones had to be well aware of who they worked for. Hell, he'd been several steps ahead of them for months. Still, Jack never got tired of saying it.

“Well, would you look at that. Not one but two dashing Time Agents. I must really rate.” Jones looked from Jack to John and then back again, his lips curving up into a smile. “Love the uniforms.”

He unlaced his fingers and leisurely indicated his chest with one hand. “Ianto Jones, inventor and entrepreneur. But you already knew that.”

He spoke with a lilting accent that put unusual emphasis on the vowels. Where—and when--was it from? Jack had never heard anything like it.

John, for his part, was clearly more interested in what he was seeing than hearing. His gaze slowly traveled from Jones’s face to his feet and back up again. They finally came to rest on young man's high cheekbones, which were perfectly framed by a cloud of dark brown curls.

“Ianto Jones, what a pleasure. We've been looking everywhere for you. And now that we've found you, I can see why the Powers-that-Be nicknamed you Eye Candy.”

Ianto chuckled. “Flatterer. I know these dreadful prison scrubs don't do a thing for me.” He glanced down at the offending trousers, tugged at the material with distaste, then back up at John. “Although the strip search was fun, I have to admit.”

John's eyebrows traveled skyward and he glanced at Jack. “You didn't tell me you strip-searched him.”

Jack realized he was standing there open-mouthed and forced his mind into gear. “I didn't! That would have been against procedure. I just brought him in and turned him over to the guards.”

“Who are, alas, robots. Still, one takes what one can get in prison, no? But you two are here now. So. What should we do first?”  Jones cocked his head to the side and gave the men a coy smile.

A huge grin spread across John's face—clearly he was thinking of the possibilities. It wasn't hard to guess what they were, because Jack was thinking of them too, all sorts of combinations involving him and Jones and John...

Jack felt his face go red. He cleared his throat.

“As tempting as that offer is—and believe me, it is—what we're going to do is take you in and collect the substantial reward for your capture.  Then Time Agent Zebulon here...”--he poked John, who was still staring at Jones and all but salivating--"...will take his vacation in the Vegas Galaxies like he planned.”

Jones gave a theatrical yawn, covering his mouth with a slender, long-fingered hand as he did so.  “Well, that's dull. Except for the vacation part. The Vegas Galaxies, now that sounds promising. If they're anything like Las Vegas, I highly approve. I was in Las Vegas in the 1930's, the 1980's, and the 2520's, and each time was better than the last.”

“Oh, Las Vegas is child's play compared to the Vegas Galaxies,” John said, as if he was an authority, when Jack knew he'd never been to either place. “They try, bless their little hearts, but Americans are essentially prudes, in every century.”

Jack was barely listening to what John was saying. He was too busy trying to place that damnable accent of Jones’s, which was making him weak in the knees.

_'Irish? No, that's not right. It's not Scottish either. What the hell is it?'_

Jack was so focused on the overall effect that he was barely concentrating on the words themselves, and he started when he realized that that lovely cascade of sounds had just included his name.

“And you, Time Agent Jess? What are you going to do after you ensure that I get my just desserts?  Anything… fun?”

“That's none of your business.”

“Oh, tall, dark _and_ mysterious. I like that,” Ianto gave Jack a long, appraising look, under which Jack found himself standing straighter without really meaning to.

 “It suits you,” Jones decided.  “So, you really were waiting for your partner to arrive, just like you said before you disappeared last night. And here I had you pegged for the type that didn't like to... share.”  Jones ran his tongue over his full bottom lip, and Jack felt half of his blood rush to his face, and the rest to parts down below.

“We share everything,” he said, without stopping to think what this outrageous flirt would make of that.

Ianto's face lit up and Jack nearly groaned in frustration, both at how badly he desired this young man, and how wrong-footed he'd felt since he'd materialized in this cell.

This was not the way he'd pictured this arrest going. This kid, this _criminal_ , was in serious trouble and should have been groveling at their feet. Not flirting so hard he was throwing Jack off balance. He'd never met anyone who had quite this effect on him, unless you counted the woman from the 58th century with whom he'd been completely head over heels at first sight. Her and her damnable futuristic pheromones!

He'd been young and naïve; she had been older and worldly, and he'd thought it too good to be true that she felt the same way about him. It had had been. She turned out to be a contract killer with a vendetta against the Time Agency and had tried to murder him in his sleep. But even that hadn't necessarily been a deal-breaker for Jack, although the fact that John had killed her in retaliation kind of was. He still dreamed about her sometimes.

Yes, there was a distinct possibility he was dealing with something like that here. No one was really sure where or when Jones was from, as he had done an excellent job of disguising his past.  (Or was it the future?)  But if so, in this case the pheromones were so subtle Jack hadn't even been aware of them. He had held Jones in his arms the night before and couldn't say that he had any particular recognizable scent, but clearly _something_ was affecting his brain. It was as good a theory as any.

 _'Whatever it is, he probably means to get us so worked up we forget what we're doing and then use our confusion to escape,'_ Jack realized, chagrined that he hadn't recognized the tactic sooner. It was one he was fond of employing himself. Well, it wasn't going to work. He was taking control of the situation back, right now.

“It's the only way we both get credit for your capture,” Jack said, fixing a scowl on his face and putting his hands on his hips.

Ianto Jones fixed Jack with a level gaze. “So you say. But I'm wondering if you brought your partner because you're not sure you can handle me all by yourself.”

Jack arched an eyebrow. “Don't flatter yourself. I was good enough to catch you, wasn't I?”

“True,” Jones agreed. “Though it took you long enough. And that's not what I meant.”

“Oh really? What did you mean?”

Jones shrugged. “I mean, anytime I see a man with a wrist strap that large, I have to wonder if he's compensating for something.”

Jack gaped at Jones, unable to believe what he just heard. John threw back his head and laughed.

“Oh, he's a cheeky one! I like that!”

“Afraid? Of you? That's a laugh!” Jack declared, shooting a glare at John.

Ianto bent one leg at the knee and slid his foot up until it was parallel with his other knee, causing the fabric of his trousers to pull enticingly over his groin.

“Then why don't you come over here and prove me wrong?”

Jack had actually taken two steps forward before he stopped himself. Doing the things ( _'Smack that smug look right off his face, and then kiss it all better')_ he was thinking to a confined prisoner was a serious breach of Time Agency ethics, no matter how much said prisoner was goading him.  He could face fines, have the entire arrest expunged from his record and the memories of it expunged from his mind, or even lose his job over it.

“This has gone on long enough. Ianto Jones, you are accused of crimes against multiple timelines and humanity in general.”

Jack closed his eyes and began to recite from memory. “Specifically, of the following counts. One: Interfering with Michael Faraday's research in order to delay the discovery of the electric motor.”

“I wanted to see what would happen. Not a fan of Steampunk, I take it?” Jones inquired.

Jack refused to be baited. He'd waited a long time to give this speech.

“Two: Using knowledge of the future to amass a fortune in the American Stock Market in both the Roaring Twenties and the dot-com bubble of the Nineties.”

“Most of which I gave to charity when I left those time periods,” Jones pointed out.

“ _Three:_ Multiple counts of introducing a time-travel device into eras it didn't belong, the most recent being Victorian London, where it could have fallen into the wrong hands and wreaked all kinds of havoc.”

“As did you,” Jones pointed out.

“That's different!”

“Is it?”

“So, for this and other crimes too numerous to mention here, under the authority of Time Agency Statue Sixty-Five Thousand, Two Hundred and Forty-Three regarding “The Maintenance of Timeline Integrity on Earth, Planet of Origin of _Homo Sapiens_ ,” we are placing you under arrest.”

“There you go again It's all business with you.” Jones glanced at John. “Is he always like this? It must get very tiresome.”

“Actually, no. Usually he's a lot more fun.”

“Can it, Zeb!”

“Right. It must be me then. Something about me seems to... rub him the wrong way.” Ianto pouted and the look was as endearing as any other that had crossed his face.

Jack wanted to apologize, and make a cheesy but heart-felt offer to rub him the right way—and what the hell!

“That's it! You're coming with us, right now. Stand up and don't try anything funny!” He flipped the cover on his wrist strap and started entering the coordinates of the Time Agency headquarters.

“Are you sure you don't want to have a little fun first? After all, I'm going away indefinitely. I won't even be allowed conjugal visits. That is, if I were married, which I'm not. Never found anyone that could keep up with me.” He sighed. “This could be my last... time.”

“What? _('Yes!')_ No! You're just trying to distract us, and delay the inevitable.”

Jones rolled his eyes. “Obviously. And it's working too.”

“No, it's not,” Jack began, and then stopped when he realized that John was now sitting on the bench next to Ianto.

“Ah, come on, Jess,” John said. “No need to be hasty. After all, he's right; the punishment for what he's done is life-imprisonment. Once we take him in, he'll be lost to the world forever. Such a waste of a good...” John's eyes traveled the length of Ianto's body again “...mind.”

Ianto beamed and placed his hand on John's thigh. “You know what they say, 'Flattery will get you everywhere.'”

Ianto's hand inched moved up an enticing inch or two and then he paused, looking off as if distracted. “Although not to sell myself short. I _have_ been known to have a good idea now and then. I could tell you my solution to the Blinovitch Limitation Effect, but it's secret. I'd have to whisper it in your ear.”

“The Blinovitch Limitation Effect,” John repeated, eyes fixed on Jones’s hand, clearly willing it to start moving again.

“That pesky law of physics that prevents a time traveler from “re-doing” an action that he has previously taken? I found a work-around. But I can't tell just anyone. That could have ramifications even I don't think the world is ready to deal with yet. ”

“So you do have some scruples,” Jack said, trying to sound scornful, but unable to take his eyes away from Jones’s fingers, which had resumed their upward journey.

“I do,” Jones agreed. “About some things. About others, none whatsoever.” He placed his palm directly on the bulge on John's trousers, and John sucked in his breath.

“Trying to seduce a Time Agent on duty? That's very naughty of you, Eye Candy,” John said, catching Jones’s wrist in his hand.

“So what are you going to do about it?” asked Ianto. John groaned and slid his gaze to Jack, his normally pale blue eyes now almost all pupil.

Jack looked at the pretty, cocky inventor who looked far too young to be playing this game but clearly wasn't, given that he had one Time Agent pinned like a butterfly on a cork-board while giving the other one hell of a come-hither look, and couldn't take it anymore. Time Agency ethics be damned.

“That does it! Time to teach you a lesson.” Jack gave John a short, sharp nod. They were both low-level telepaths, but no telepathy was needed here. They'd worked, played, and pulled together 24-7 for the last year and knew exactly what to do with this insufferable tease.

As one, Jack and John pounced on Jones. The inventor laughed as he disappeared under a pile of flailing limbs and black NuMat.

 

* * *

   
Within minutes, Jack had learned two things: The baggy cotton trousers were just as easy to remove as he had imagined, and Ianto Jones was an even bigger handful when he was getting what he wanted. As they stripped him, he giggled and wriggled, and then broke away from them and bolted on his hands and knees for the door. Given that the door was secured with several obvious locking mechanisms, it seemed less a serious attempt at escape than an invitation for someone to tackle and subdue him. Jack was happy to oblige.

Once more he found himself lying on top of a prone Jones, who was at this point delightfully _sans_ clothes, and face down. Jack pinned the young man's arms to his sides and ground his pelvis into Jones’s subtly rounded arse.

 _'That'll show him who's boss,'_ Jack thought with satisfaction.

“Go on, then,” gasped Jones. “What are you waiting for?”

It was tempting indeed—but no.

“Not yet. We have other plans for you,” Jack said. “Get up!”

He lifted himself—not without regret—from Jones’s body and crouched beside him, moving one hand to the scruff of his neck to keep him in check. Jones pushed himself to his knees and turned his head to look up at Jack. There was curiosity in his eyes, but no uncertainty. Good.

“Do it,” Jack ordered.

Jones rose and brushed himself off, managing to look dignified while doing so, no easy feat for a naked man. He glanced at Jack and raised an eyebrow, the picture of disinterested nonchalance. From the neck up, at least. Below the waist, it was clear that Jones was enjoying himself.

Jack tore his gaze from Jones’s generous endowment and met his eyes, while arranging his features into his best “Do as I say” expression.

“Get back over there and lie down, across Zebulon's lap.”

Jack waited a beat for the meaning of his order to sink in. When it did, Jones’s features remained deadpan. The way his face flushed however, indicated he was not quite as indifferent to as he wanted to appear.

“It appears I have no choice in the matter.”

Jack shrugged. “Oh, you always have a choice. But the other alternatives are worse.” They gazed at each other, and it was anyone's game as to who would break first.

Much to Jack's surprise, Ianto Jones, the _enfant terrible_ of timeline integrity, did as he was told.

 

They arranged him so that he was positioned across John's lap, with his upper body supported by the bench, his knees on the floor, and his arse in the air. John pulled Jones’s wrists together behind his back and held them in one hand, and ran the other along one smooth, creamy cheek.

“Oh, Eye Candy. I must have done something right in a former life to deserve this,” he chuckled.

“Or he did something very wrong in this one,” Jack said, folding his arms and keeping up his “stern” persona.

“Or maybe I did something right,” Jones piped up. John glanced at Jack.

“You say that now,” Jack said, nodding at John.  John drew back his hand and smacked Jones hard on the right cheek, causing the young man to suck in his breath.

But you'll be singing a different song soon.”

“We'll see…”

Jones’s retort was broken off by another intake of breath when John hit him again in the same spot.

“…Won't we _-eagh_!” He tried again, but John hit him a third time, and his last word turned into more of a cry, which he quickly bit down on. Jack had no doubt it had hurt. He knew from experience how hard John could hit, even when he was warming up. And he was just warming up.

John peppered each cheek with half-a-dozen blows, during which Jones (miraculously) stopped talking. His ragged breathing, broken by a hitch every time John's calloused palm landed on his arse, spoke volumes, however. Every sound went straight to Jack's groin, and he tugged at his trousers, which had grown uncomfortably tight. What he really wanted was to remove them, but the dynamic of being fully-clothed—in his uniform, no less—while their unrepentant captive lay naked across John's lap was really turning him on, so he didn't.

Jack stalked around the pair and crouched down in front of Jones’s head. When John paused after twelve smacks, Jack twined his fingers in Jones’s hair and lifted his head.

Jones’s face had gone pink all over, with bright red spots on each cheek. He really did blush prettily, Jack thought. His throw-pillow lips were red from being bitten, and his blue-gray eyes had gone dark.

 _'He might be the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen,'_ Jack thought, and felt his stomach turn over.

“Had enough?” Jack said aloud.

Jones managed a derisive snort.

“What was that? In words, please. And you might want to think before you reply. Remember, there are two of us, and only one of you. We can do this a long, long time.”

“Didn't feel a thing,” Jones choked out.

“Good,” Jack said. “Because we're just getting started.”

He nodded at John, who drew his arm back and brought it down with full force on the young man's reddening arse.

Jack not only heard him cry out, he felt the breath of it against his cheek. He kept his hand where it was and stroked Jones’s hair as John hit him again. And again.

Then John targeted the spot where arse cheek met thigh, and Jones bucked in John's lap and uttered a multi-syllabic curse in a language other than English.

It came to Jack in a flash. “Welsh! You're speaking Welsh!” He recognized it now. He'd had a crash course in the history of Earth and its languages when they’d gotten the assignment to track Jones. The curse words were always the first things he'd picked up.

“That's because I'm from Wales, you _twpsyn_.”

“You just realized that he was Welsh?” John sounded amused. He delivered four more blows in quick succession to Ianto's thighs and was rewarded with more exotic curses. “Even I figured it out. And I skipped more of those classes than I attended.”

Jack glared at both of them and rose to his feet. Standing, he could see that Jones’s arse was redder than his face, which was really saying something, and there were two bright red spots on his thighs as well. The sight was so intriguing he forgot the retorts he was preparing for them both. He bent down and ran his fingertips lightly over one of Jones’s cheeks, savoring the heat coming off it. He savored Jones’s answering moan even more.

“You like that?” he said. There was no reply. He pinched the skin between his thumb and forefinger, hard, eliciting a sharp hiss, then stroked Jones’s skin lightly again. “I said, do you like that?”

“Yeah,” Jones replied, and there was no disguising the emotion in it now. Pain and arousal had sent Ianto's baritone into its deeper registers, and Jack felt an answering tug in his groin.

“Yeah, what?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, I like it,” Jones bit out.

Jack shook his head, though he knew Jones couldn't see it. “Better, but not good enough. I find your answer lacking a certain... respect.  A 'Sir' or a 'thank you' would not be amiss right now, you know."

He walked back so that he was standing in front of Jones, and unbuckled his belt buckle. Jones’s head came up at the clank of the metal, and he watched with glazed eyes and a slightly open mouth as Jack made a show of tugging the belt free of its loops and folding it in half.

Jack smacked it against his palm and it made a loud, satisfying _crack_ that caused Jones to flinch.

“Want to try that again?” Jack asked.

Jones’s eyes blazed—with lust, with defiance. “Try what?”

Their gazes locked and they looked at each other for a long moment.

 _'He knows damn well what I mean,'_ Jack thought.

 _'Of course he does,'_ John's presence in his mind assured him. _'I can feel him. He's hard as a rock against my thigh. He's loving this.'_

_'Let's give him something to remember us by, then.'_

_'Yes, let's.'_

_'On my signal.'_

Jack passed the belt to John over Jones’s head, and then knelt down in front of him again. He stroked his thumb over one of Jones’s cheekbones, down to his chin, and then brushed it across his lips. Jones shuddered and closed his eyes.

Jack tapped Jones’s lips with his thumb. “Open.”

Jones parted his lips and allowed Jack to slide his thumb in. He started sucking it without being ordered, and Jack felt a wave of dizziness as what little blood remained in his brain deserted it. The young man had real talent.

Jack watched his thumb disappear in Jones’s mouth and wondered if that mouth tasted as savory as it looked. He withdrew his thumb, then leaned in and pressed his lips against Jones’s. Jones responded eagerly, kissing back and opening his mouth again. Jack pushed his tongue in and explored.

_'Yep. Just as tasty as he looks.'_

Jack pulled back and sat back on his haunches.

“Nice. But you're not getting out of this that easily. John?”

It was the signal John had been waiting for. He raised his arm and brought the belt down across Jones’s cheeks.

“ _Ow! Duw!_ ” he cried out, scooting forward. John jerked him back into position by the wrists. Jack reached out and grasped his shoulders.

“Again,” Jack said.

John brought the belt down harder.

“Fuck! That really _hurts_!”

After the second stroke, Jones made one more last-ditch effort to evade the belt, but gave it up when he realized it was useless. He cursed some more and struggled through strokes three and four. After the fifth something amazing happened.

Jones stopped fighting them, and himself, and went limp. Jack watched the tension drain from his shoulders, watched his fists unclench and his legs go still against the floor.

“Good,” Jack said. He moved one hand to stroke the back of Jones’s neck where he'd gripped it tightly before. A soft moan was Jones’s only reply. It was music to Jack's ears, just as much as Jones’s delightful accent had been.

“That was five,” Jack said, just as softly, returning his hand to Jones’s shoulder. He knew it wasn't necessary to keep him in place now, but that the restraint would be (paradoxically) comforting.

“Give him five more and then we'll see where we are.”

Another moan, but save for some involuntary jerking of his back and legs, Ianto didn't move as John placed five evenly-spaced belt stripes along the backs of his thighs.

John ran light, teasing fingertips across the red marks as Jack crouched down in front of Jones again.

“Look at me, Jones.”

Ianto lifted his head. His eyes were bright, but there were no visible tears, and his expression was calm. But it wasn’t the deadpan mask he'd affected before, Jack realized. Jones now radiated an inner peace that Jack envied. It was the calm of someone who'd spent a great deal of their life running, but didn't have to anymore. Jack wondered if he would ever feel that kind of calm.

Or perhaps he was reading too much in to it. Maybe Jones just enjoyed a good spanking. Either way, Jack was going to make sure he got what he wanted.

“Five more for luck,” Jack decided. “And I get to do it.” Jones swallowed hard but didn't protest. He dropped his head back to the bench, turning his face to the side so that his cheek rested against it.

“Hold still,” Jack ordered, though he knew it wasn't necessary at this point.

Jack moved around so that he was crouched by Jones’s upraised arse. He took a deep breath and put everything he was feeling into his swing. His slightly-cupped palm connected with Jones’s sore arse with a satisfying “smack”, and Ianto cried out something inarticulate. Jack felt proud to have reduced him to such a state.

Smack! Smack! SMACK! SMACK!

The sounds cracked through the air, and afterwards the atmosphere seemed heavy and charged, like a humid summer night before a thunderstorm. The sounds of their breathing--his and John's rapid; Jones’s ragged and not-quite-sobbing—were loud in the still room.

Jack placed both palms against Jones’s fevered arse and smiled with satisfaction. John patted Ianto on the shoulder, muttering, “There, there” in a way that should have been absurd coming from the self-styled tough but that Jack found charming.

“Very good,” Jack said, with a light tap against Jones’s arse that elicited another moan. “You took that brilliantly. Come on now. Up you get.”

Jones stirred, and Jack and John helped the boneless young man to the floor.  He didn't resist as they pushed him onto his hands and knees.

Jack by this point was nearly insane from want. Spanking the inventor had been a diversion (albeit a pleasant one) from what he really wanted to do with him, and his desire had only been inflamed by waiting. Seeing him gamely holding the position they'd put him in despite trembling limbs and a dropped head, it all came roaring back. He realized he was _thisclose_ to ripping his trousers off and having his way with Jones, and it was clear from the hungry look on John's face (and the way he was currently cupping his groin) that John felt the same way.

But something inside Jack made him hold back. Something in him wanted to make sure. He scooted around to Jones’s head again.

“Hey,” he said.

Jones looked at him. “Remember what I said about there always being choices? Well, you have one to make right now.”

“What's that?” Jones asked. His voice was husky, but nowhere near as shaky as Jack had expected. John hit _really_ hard. After his first go-around with him, Jack's own voice had been hoarse from all the shouting he'd done.

“We're still taking you in. That hasn't changed. But you get to choose when. Either we go in five minutes, or whatever you need to pull yourself together and get dressed, or...”

“Or?”

Jack grinned in a toothy manner that no one had yet told him resembled a shark's, but someday would. “Or we go in an hour, or whatever it takes for the three off us to get off in a mutually satisfactory way.”

Jones met his eyes then, and answered Jack's grin with a smile of his own.

“I pick Door Number Two.”

“I hoped you'd say that.”

“Me too,” John chimed in.

“So.” Jack echoed Jones’s words of earlier.  “What should we do first?”

Ianto knelt up and reached for the fly of Jack's trousers with one hand while waving John over with the other.

“I have a few ideas,” he said, shaking the hair out of his face to reveal eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Oh you do, do you?”

“Oh yes. There's quite a list.”

 

* * *

 

The “Boy Genius” was a genius indeed as far as boys were concerned, Jack decided.

His nimble fingers were as dexterous with body parts as they were with machine parts, and he had a way of looking up through his lashes while his mouth was busy elsewhere that reduced Jack to a quivering, incoherent mess far quicker than he cared to admit. The contrast between the sweet, beguiling look and the utterly naughty things he did with his tongue was irresistible.

Jones was a study in contrasts in other ways as well.  He was quite pliant when Jack pulled protection out of a handy inner pocket of his jacket (yet another reason to love the uniform), pushed Jones back onto his hands and knees, and slowly but inexorably made good on his promise of earlier. The way Jones pushed back against every thrust suggested he was as into it as Jack was, as did the unabashed, wordless cry that tore from his throat when he climaxed in Jack's hand.

As they rested on the floor, Jack figured he had Jones’s number by then--a submissive pretty boy that aimed to please. So he was gobsmacked when Jones, who should have been sated and half-asleep, suddenly roused himself and pushed Jack onto _his_ hands and knees. Jones shot a look over Jack's head to John that Jack didn't quite catch but John certainly did, and within seconds Jack found himself, to his utter delight, at the center of both of their attentions.

And on it went. As Jack rested from his second climax, he wondered when Jones was from. His accent said 21st century, but the way uninhibited, even exuberant way he played was more 51st . Then Jones did something to John, who was currently sprawled under the bench, that made him cry out in a most interesting way, and Jack stopped focusing on anything but the delightful here and now. He crawled over to join in.

Suddenly Jack heard footsteps in the hallway outside--regimented, metallic footsteps, walking in lockstep. He looked over and met John's eyes, no easy feat because John had to crane his neck past an intimate part of Jones’s anatomy to see him.

“The guards!” Jack said.

John's eyes widened. “Already? It can't be. It hasn't been that long.”

“Yes, it has,” Jack realized.

“What's going on?” mumbled Jones.

“Automatic security alert. It gets activated if visitors are with the prisoners too long. They assume something's gone wrong and they send reinforcements."

“Bollocks!” John swore, extricating himself from under Jones and scrambling to his feet.

Jack started groping about for his clothes. “I can't believe we lost track of the time!”

“Oh, no!” Jones exclaimed at the same time. “I lost track of the time.”

Jack paused in the middle of pulling on his trousers to peer at him.

“What do you care? You're going away for life. You've got nothing but time.”

Ianto gave Jack a sheepish look that seemed oddly out of place given the circumstances. “I'm sorry.”

“What for?”

“That was amazing. Better than I ever dreamed, both of you. But you were right to suspect I was up to something. I usually am.”

He raised his hand and Jack saw that Jones was holding his Vortex Manipulator. He hadn't even felt it leave his wrist.

“Give that back right now! You have no idea what you're dealing with!”

“I do. That's why I have to do this. I'm too young, and far too good-looking, to go away for life. Maybe I’ll see you again someday under better circumstances. I hope so.”

“Jones, don't do that!”

Ianto Jones pressed two buttons, and was gone. Twelve robots arrived and raised their weapons.

“Zeb, quick! Get us out of here.” Jack grabbed John's arm and tapped the cover of his Vortex Manipulator. He was grateful that John had managed to hold on to his, though he suspected there would be no end to John's teasing later.

“Oh sure, n _ow_ you want me to drive?” John asked.

“Just do it!”

John sighed. “I can't. They just activated the deadlock seal on this cell. We're not going anywhere until...”

“…The Powers-that-Be arrive and sort it.” Jack finished.

“Looks like it.”

Jack slowly fastened his trousers, tossed John an odd sock, and sank down on the bench.

“The Boy Genius got away. And we let him. Is there any way we can spin this so that it looks good?”

John glanced at the security cameras which glared balefully down at them; there was a miniature, all-seeing Cyclops in every corner of the room. “Not once they get a look at the CCTV. They’ll think we abused him, and then he got the better of us.”

“And they would be right, about the second part, anyway.”

“What do you think they'll do to us, Jess? Put us in the cell they reserved for Jones?”

“That'd be ironic. But no, it's our first real mistake. They'll probably just erase our memories and put some other agents on the case.”

 _'Erase our memories. Of this.'_ The thought sent a pang of regret through Jack's gut that had nothing to do with screwing up the case.

“That's the standard procedure?” John looked appalled.

“You skipped that class too, didn't you? Yes, it is.”

“Well.” John slumped against the wall. “I guess that's it then.”

“I guess.”

But was it? Jack suddenly wasn't so sure he was finished with the irrepressible Ianto Jones just yet. He had a hunch that they _would_ meet again someday, a feeling that became more certain the more he examined it.

There had to be a way to hold on to the memories—to shove them down so deep that no matter what they did to him, part of him wouldn't forget. There had to be. He needed to hold on to just enough so that the next time he saw Jones, he wouldn't pass him by like a stranger on the street.

“You know what, though?” John sat up straighter, crossed his legs, and grinned. “It was worth it.”

When Jack next met Ianto Jones, whenever and wherever it occurred, he would not let him get away, he vowed. He'd hold on to him, whatever it took.

Jack grinned back.

“It sure was.”

_'It will be.'_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the “Officers of the Law” meme at the LiveJournal community [spanking_world.](http://spanking-world.livejournal.com)


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